A Toe, A Painting

It's really sad when your big toe gets in the way of falling objects. It's good for the object, so it doesn't get hurt and all, but the toe usually comes out a little worse off.

Take my toe, for instance. Four days ago it happened to break the fall for a piece of hardwood that fell from 5' up. I'm really proud of my toe, but I'm sort of wishing it wasn't so eager to play the hero. The bruise is fun to watch change colors, I gave it a fresh pedicure so the new nail polish color coordinates nicely with the yellows and greys just above it.




The problem I'm having is that I'm wondering when exactly the toenail will fall off. I'm pretty sure this will happen, given that the wood hit my toe directly above the toenail emergence zone. What does one do at the beginning of summer when this happens? Buy a fake toenail? Polish the empty skin into the shape of a nail?

All I can say is, Thank God it hasn't affected all the daily tasks I perform with my feet while my hands are busy with other chores.






Oh yeah, I made my first official encaustic painting today. More to come....

http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif

Wowza - I just am loving this fellow's artwork:

John Grade

Oh, and this is really important - Kate and I decided yesterday that eggplant really shouldn't be allowed to be a food. It's pretty and all, but it's simply vile tasting, and the texture is akin to eating, oh, I don't know, maybe a condom.

I am immortalized

This morning at Starbucks was a glorious dream come true. Yes, they named my drink after me. It is officially called "The Jeanette". Okay, well, at least by a couple of the employees at my Forest Park Starbucks. I have so arrived.

I'm waiting for Kate to come hither so we can walk the one block from my house to Fitzgeralds to the Constructor Craft Fair. Yay! Cool crafty stuff and we don't even have to go into the big, bad city. I love this area- in fact, everyone who reads this post must move here immediately.

Fast forward to 9 hours later..... The Craft Fair was pretty cool. I think I am a bit jaded by Ugly Doll rip-offs, cutey little characters on t-shirts and hand-sewn vintagey purses. Perhaps I am evil to say that; I'm just wanting some unique goods out there.

Oh well, they're doing more making stuff than I am. But...... I did enroll in a week-long encaustic workshop for the end of September. Wheeeeee! I loves wax.

Simply Mad about Gardening

I'm finding myself slowly turning into a yard-obsessed middle-aged man. Unfortunately, I know nothing of yard work and gardening. My biggest accomplishment thus far is to remember to cut back the lilacs last summer ater they finished blooming, but before the new blooms had begun to sprout. My reward is a huge, lush purple monster waiting outside the front door to kill me.



I am learning about weeds, and that it is generally a good idea to pull them before they reach this size:

This be a fucking root.

The one thing that vexes me the most is trying to figure out what certain plants are. I'm reluctant to pull some things I think are probably weeds, because what if they will turn into lovely flowering specimens, attractive to hummingbirds and bees?




This one in particular has me flummoxed. I went ahead and cut it down, and soon after it sprouted a large, curious looking flower:





There's just always something new to learn when working with nature. Welp, off to plant some more crops.

12:27 am

Saturday night Live was not funny. I'm not sleepy. I am sitting on our couch. Lounging, really. I am reading The Time Traveler's Wife, and I knew if I stuck with it I'd finally become interested. It took about 100 pages, which is my rule of thumb. If, after 100 pages, I still don't feel a connection with a book, I stop reading.

I'm hearing people stumbling to their cars after an evening at Fitzgerald's, and F and Christian are sleeping. F, soundly. C is working out his subconscious demons, all twitchy in bed.

This blog entry sounds entirely too much like a diary page. so I will leave all 6 or so of you chumps to your lives.

.....But not without first treating you to a visual melange of some photos completely unrelated to this post: Food things. Because that is how my brain functions. Bite me.

The "Pretty Discount"

About a year or so ago, F started to tell women they were pretty - usually women with a ton of makeup and tiny clothes on. The "hooker chic" thing goes a long way with her, as it exudes a sense of exotic beauty usually reserved for Barbies. While in a checkout line, if we luck into a woman checker, F will study her for a bit, until she grows bored and moves to another activity, or she will be instantly smitten, and declare, "She's pretty!" She used to say this quietly, but not enough checkout women would hear her, so it's turned to an almost yell, "SHE'S PRETTY!" Usually the stunned woman immediately decides F is the most wonderful child she's ever encountered. Today it earned us a $5 discount at Target. Hot damn, my child is a coupon-creator. I am thinking there must be some way to put her through college with this talent.

Or we'll simply teach her to dress like Barbie and help her land a sugar daddy.

Queasy

Driving A and E to school the other morning, we were listening along to a Michael Jackson song. Then one of them asked, "Was this song from when he was black or when he was white?" And I peed out of my eyes I was laughing so hard, because it was such a sincere little question.

BLACK

WHITE

This strangeness is nothing new, of course, but I needed to just dredge it all up again so something can be shown as decisively black and white. This must be my Virgo personality shining through. Carry on.

By the way, you're a vegetable.

My Hero

I think the best way to deal with a really difficult week is through the use of humor. Am I right? Yes. Yes, I am so right.

So, at the expense of my beautiful sister, Kate, I will amuse myself. This is especially odious since she has taken my child out for a fun adventure tonight, leaving me to eat bon bons and blog to my imaginary friends.

I think these photos show the part of her that might be permanently affected by being a therapist. Poor girl.

Back from Raaaah-chester

Aaah, but I missed the nasally, carry-the-flat-vowel sound of the Rochester accent. I was actually disappointed when I made a special trip to an art store, to buy some encaustic supplies, and was met with a full-on Boston accent. Plus, they didn't even have the supplies I went especially to purchase. I was soon comforted by a trip to Wegmans, followed by an Abbott's Turtle-binge.


Here it is in all it's glory: nestled along the Erie Canal. I wonder if they've ever had to use that life ring to fetch some poor, custard-bloated fool who scarfed down his frozen treat and then stumbled into the canal in a sugar and fat haze.

Another picture of my beloved Abbott's: (Oh, and my Dad in the foreground, thinking I'm taking a picture of him. Silly man.)




Custard Turtle
Vanilla or Chocolate Abbott's Frozen Custard is mixed with chocolate sauce and nuts and then dipped in chocolate.